


Holding Me Like Water in Your Hands

by Infamous_society



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Dunharrow, Mirkwood, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Sea-longing (Tolkien), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 21:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30145599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infamous_society/pseuds/Infamous_society
Summary: Aragorn visits Mirkwood before the war
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	Holding Me Like Water in Your Hands

He appeared, bow drawn, like a statue to commemorate a war that never existed. His golden hair swayed in the wind, the warrior’s braids tangled but the armour revealed his secret - engraved with tales of luxury and royalty.

“Aragorn,” Legolas breathed his name and it was like the beginning of spring again. The summer woods twinkled, the flowers blossoming in vibrant colours. But it was autumn and the forest burned orange.

“Legolas, mellon nîn, it has been too long,” Aragorn’s voice rang low in Legolas’ ears, intoxicating and poisonous. 

Legolas lowered his bow slowly, stepping forward with outstretched hands as if Aragorn was merely a ghost or some figment of his imagination that would disappear without a trace into the air. 

“I have missed you, Aragorn,” his hand stopped short of Aragorn’s weary face, falling onto his shoulder instead, “You look...older.”

Aragorn’s gaze flickered downwards to Legolas’ hand, as if it were burning his skin, leaving a permanent mark. The forest seemed darker than he remembered, its shadows and burdens reflected in the angles of Legolas’ face. 

Cold wind hissed from the mountains, the river flowed harsh and fast, Legolas’ eyes darkened as if he was part of the forest himself. He looked haunted, burdened by the passing of time but he looked so young, so innocent as one slight touch of Aragorn’s fingertips and he would disappear into the wind.

Legolas placed his hand back on his bow, a freezing chill ran through Aragorn’s body at the lack of contact.

“You are cold?” Legolas raised an eyebrow, concerned. 

The sun was fading, the lull of pink and gold bejewelled his hair, a crown upon his head. Aragorn stared for an instant - lost in a dream of a far away kingdom where Legolas lounged on a throne, a sanguine smile on his face as his hand outstretched once more to trace Aragorn’s face.

“It is my own fault,” Aragorn shrugged, resigned, “I travelled light from Imaldris.”

The light in Legolas’ face vanished without a trace, darkness consuming his eyes. A gaze so intense was filled with hidden emotions which Aragorn could not decipher. 

Legolas stepped away from Aragorn, turning back towards the endless forest. A sea of uncertainty lay ahead, a wave would crash against the shore and Aragorn would drown in his own selfishness. 

“Shall you track me or walk by my side?” Legolas grinned slightly, the darkness in his eyes blending into the taint of the woods in his cheekbones.

Aragorn had the sudden feeling of being hunted - Legolas a vicious predator, ready to strike, willing to slowly elongate his prey’s death just to smile at the wails of agony. He felt lost, drowning in a relentless sea. But as he blinked, a tactful retort on the edge of his lips, Legolas had already taken off running into the suffocating dim. 

A deer ran across the path, a bird sang in the distance. A stream roared with anticipation. A dusky haze covered the forest, but Legolas shone like the starlight. 

He held his palm flat in the open air, catching a raindrop as it tumbled from the sky. Tears for a life that Aragorn could not live, an eternal life by Legolas’ side. 

“We should stop here for the night,” Legolas murmured softly, the stern and stoic revelations of a prince long forgotten. 

The smell of damp moss, leather and pine drifted through the air as Legolas sat on the ground. Aragorn placed his sword against the tree trunk, laying gently on the floor. He felt overwhelmed, disorientated, everything he saw or smelt or touched was a mere extension of Legolas’ soul. 

Comfortable silence filled the air as the rain fell harder. Aragorn shivered - perhaps it was the cold, perhaps it was Legolas. Legolas deftly worked his fingers through his disheveled braids, biting his lip in concentration. For an instant Aragorn could believe he himself were Beren. 

No word was spoken. A bird sang once more, the sound of the rain dancing on the leaves growing louder. Aragorn was going to drown in the tide of Legolas’ steady breathing.

“I am tired of the chase Legolas,” Aragorn’s voice broke the still of twilight. 

Suddenly Legolas turned to look at Aragorn, his hand reaching for his knives. He was feral, wild, hungry for blood and Aragorn would suffer. 

“I grow weary, Legolas, of this hunt between us. Never touching, never loving, always taunting each other and turning away at the last minute.” 

Aragorn reached his hand towards Legolas’ cheeks - Legolas moved backwards like a skittish foal, as if Aragorn’s touch was poison. His eyes were dark once more, only a slight glimmer of hope remained. 

“Your brothers are my friends but what will they say?” Legolas paused, avoiding Aragorn’s steady gaze. “And Arwen? What will Arwen say, thinking she has your love?”

“Arwen knows, Elladan knows, Elrohir knows - everyone knows,” Aragorn’s voice danced with mirth “Perhaps you are the last to know.” 

Legolas hummed slightly, a gentle hand slowly tracing Aragorn’s collarbone. His golden hair floated around his face, a hallowed warrior haunted by his past. But he fell away from Aragorn’s warmth, scorched by Aragorn’s humanity. Instead he rested his head against a tree trunk, merging into the feral wildlife and the ancient air. 

But Aragorn chased after him, now a relentless predator. He kneeled, Legolas’ legs brushing his hips. His hand outstretched, the dirt on his fingertips smearing across Legolas’ jaw. He tilted Legolas’ chin upwards, his eyes staring straight into Aragorn’s soul. 

Gently, Aragorn kissed Legolas, as if Legolas would flee or fade the second Aragorn moved away. But Legolas’ arms wrapped around Aragorn’s shoulders, pulling him closer. His lips were searing, an addictive wine that was endlessly intoxicating. If the world was ending around them, Aragorn would not notice, he would not care. 

“It is late Aragorn, you are tired,” Legolas observed, his words a soothing calm. “I will keep watch, you must sleep.” 

His eyes twinkled like starlight, but a bitter shadow remained. Aragorn could not tell if it was merely a burden of life in the woods, or a linger of fear and regret. But Legolas ran his fingers through Aragorn’s hair, matted and dirty. He just smiled wistfully, every wish he had ever spoken into the cool night air had become truth. 

Aragorn rested his head on Legolas’ lap, closing his eyes as if finally at peace. But Legolas did not want to think about Aragorn’s mortality in this moment, it was a shadow that clouded his mind, constantly chasing his existence. But Aragorn would never understand, the killer could never understand. 

“Aragorn, if you asked me to, I would walk with you until I heard the seagull cry and saw the waves on the shore,” a murmur into the freezing night that the sleeping man would not hear. 

In a distant future, Legolas saw a mountain and a flag of Rohan blowing wild. Aragorn stood in front of him, a sword in hand, the sword that was broken. A seagull would cry, the waves would break on the shore, Aragorn would be king. Perhaps he would never return from the battlefields. 

Instead, he allowed the rain to cleanse the fear from his soul. _Four strands of grey hair, a new scar on his arm_. Legolas slowly counted Aragorn’s breaths, a lull of desire and admiration - perhaps Legolas was the predator all along. 

But Aragorn smiled slightly in his sleep and Legolas had never seen him look so peaceful and so serene. There were words Legolas wished to whisper, but he could no longer remember them, rapt in the trap of Aragorn’s love. He desired to gift Aragorn the moon, the stars, the light of the two trees but it would all be futile. 

A fire burned inside the both of them, waiting to be tamed. But Aragorn was like water slipping through Legolas’ hand - unattainable, soon to be lost forever. 

Soon Aragorn would become another distant memory and Legolas would not remember anything apart from his own name. Legolas leaned forward, placing a kiss on the sleeping man’s forehead, desperate to remember. 


End file.
